movie reviews, Volume 4 number 2, March 2002, © by Thela Clayton Video Dreamland Lots of trash is sitting on the video shelves right now, but it can’t compare to the nightly news. No need to rent a war story, Afghanistan is happening now. Hope you like the script, you’re paying for it. Palestine and Israel is just a bad version of He Said, She Said. How about a nice little story about an American enterprise? Try ENRON for the riches, power, and our stock dividends paid to strippers for lap dances. Hey, it’s just business entertainment for the client, isn’t it? If horror movies are your favorite, well, it seems the devil was last seen in Georgia. To escape this OK corral, I buried myself in some really good books. Buy me a beer at the pub and I’ll hand over the list. Being as it is so twisted out there, I’ve come up with my own list of strange sights and sounds to experience. For the few brave souls who venture into this territory—don’t forget to help me with my question found later in this column. Following, R Christopher Nolan rules the world of the underground, independent film. His films lead us through the stark, twisted, seedy pathways of the mind, the likes of which have not been seen since Hitchcock or Fellini. He is the writer, director, producer, and camera man of Following. He’s the bad boy, the outlaw filmmaker, and he’s captured my heart. This film is black and white, set somewhere in the British Isles, and has four main characters with lines. Our lead character is a young wannabe writer in search of subject matter. Observations in his neighborhood lead him to a thief and a sultry blonde. Like a fly caught on a web, each step draws him closer to the spider, our fourth character. A fresh new face, Jeremy Theobald as the young man delivers a fine perfomance. He won’t be going away soon. Dejá vu took me by surprise when Lucy Russell appeared on the screen. Wow! Your task, my friends, is to name the 50s-60s actress she looks so akin to. Always the bad girl, it’s not Lana Turner or Shelley Winters—try again. Help me with the name or a movie. This feather-tickling of my mind has got to stop. Pick up some French cheese and cheap Chilean red wine, and don a black turtleneck. Cheaper than a trip to Greenwich Village, settle in for a Nolan cult film absolutely guaranteed to become an underground classic. Rockstar, R, worth 25˘ Both of these movies want to show us the struggles of superstardom. They reminded me of Mrs. Ken Lay’s interview where she cried when talking about the injustice of the media attack on her husband and how the family had gone bankrupt. Better to suffer the yoke of the average Joe Blow than risk the burden of becoming a multimillionaire…or so these three characters would have you believe. Rockstar, with Mark Wahlberg, is about heavy metal music and the high energy output demanded by both the music and fans. Glitter, with Mariah Carey, is the pop music world where like bubblegum, you chew it, blow a bubble, and POP!—it’s gone. Low energy output. The Ken Lay family = high output of energy, POP!, no output of energy. Is there blood pumping through any of these characters’ veins? Cheap and sleazy, it taxes my mind to even think of these movies, much less something to write about them. The only way Wahlberg knows how to portray his character’s fervid thankfulness on becoming a musician is to wear a big-teeth grin through the whole movie. The only way Carey knows how to portray her character’s fervid thankfulness on becoming a musician is to wear a big-teeth grin through the whole movie. (Makes my face muscles hurt.) Look for wood splinters in Carey’s teeth—she makes Al Gore look like the life of the party. Hey, go the extra 15˘ and see Mark’s bare chest and Jennifer Aniston’s hair extensions. Rockstar = not nasty enough. Glitter = a rehash of feminine rise to fame with the jealous boyfriend left behind. The main characters in each of these movies are money and fame and the suffering endured when acquired. Give me a break! No food recommendations here. Try a new book or settle for a two-hour nap. Either one is by far more rewarding. Rashomon, not rated On March 21st, PBS will showcase one of the world’s finest film directors, Akira Kurosawa. His career spans fifty years, offering us a wide array of films, some of which are timeless masterpieces. The Seven Samurai was the basis for Clint Eastwood’s spaghetti westerns. Mardy and I love Ran, a Japanese King Lear. Rashomon captured the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film of 1951. My friend Amy (doesn’t everyone know an Amy?), tired of my complaining about shitty movies, plopped this in my lap one night. Not one for old movies, I felt obliged to watch it nonetheless. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. The story, set in twelfth-century Japan, is about an ambush, rape, and murder in the forest. We have a man and wife, a bandit, and a hidden witness. The story is told in flashback with four very different versions from each participant. Toshiro Mifune plays the bandit and you might recognize him from The Seven Samurai, Midway, or Shogun. This gentleman was a great actor. Your heart will warm to see his face on the screen again. It’s a little melodramatic, a little outdated, and subtitled. But it’s good, folks. So stop by the public library, pick up some F. Meyer sushi, invite a friend over, and have an enjoyable evening. Lagoon, not rated Monday night, cold, -20˚, dark; I needed a nice long movie to snuggle in with. It was a two-tape box with the story set in India under British rule. I must have been in a hurry, probably hungry. At any rate, I didn’t read the whole description. I had invested about forty minutes when lo! and behold, the cast breaks into a song and dance number. With nothing else on the agenda that night, I decided to give the rest of it a try. First, the songs got better and I realized the Indian bells were very melodious to my spirit. Second, the cricket match lasting a good thirty minutes or more was suspenseful and fun. The story is about the village of Champnar that rebels against the taxation of the British in 1893. After the village has suffered a two-year drought, the nasty British captain wants a double payment of grain. Words are exchanged and the villagers find themselves challenged to a cricket match. If they win—no taxes for three years. If they lose—triple tax. The twist, of course, is that the villagers know nothing about cricket, have no implements to practice with, and only three months to get ready for the match. Aamir Khan, producer and lead, has a wonderful voice and delivers a fine performance. Gracy Singh is the beautiful maiden in love with him. Rachel Shelley is the captain’s sister, who teaches the game to the villagers, and Paul Blackthorne is the mean, vile captain. He’s so good, you want to punch him out. Time is given to develop each player’s characteristics and each one was spot on. It’s a good family movie that’s as uplifiting as The Sound of Music. There are only about five musical numbers, which found me dancing with them to the refrigerator for a beer. I now understand cricket. Remind me to ask the Stones if cricket players still wear those little beanie caps. Have plenty of snacks on hand, this movie is four hours long. Invite your friends over. The guys will love the cricket match and ladies—well, we get Aamir Khan. | ||
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